


The Attempted Courtship of one A. Z. Fell

by R_squared



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Courtship, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, I'm trying to impress you, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Crowley (Good Omens), Smitten Aziraphale (Good Omens), frenemies to lovers, why do I keep messing it up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_squared/pseuds/R_squared
Summary: Crowleys downright, no good courting game." “Well my dear, that was scrumptious.” Aziraphale -- forever the refined English gentleman -- dabbed a napkin delicately to his lips.“It was nothing.” Crowley dismissed with a smirk.“It was lovely.” The angel countered pointedly, genuine adoration in his voice. “And it was lovely of you to do it for me.” There was an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach, which could quickly be explained by the nervous tension building from speaking so openly to someone from The Other Side. "
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	The Attempted Courtship of one A. Z. Fell

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for coming to read!  
> The world's a really crazy place right now and I hope you're all doing well and that maybe I can offer a little smile in your day. :)  
> I'm trying not to get bogged down and just to allow myself to be creative again after a long break, so I plan on writing and posting whenever I can, it ain't gonna be pristine but as long as I'm enjoying myself, I'm going to try and keep going!  
> Thanks for your support <3

He had it all planned out, a perfect evening and a perfect meal for a perfect being.

Unfortunately there was one issue with his plan..

“Fuckfuckfuck.” He scrambled to pull the burning remains out of the oven.

Crowley could not cook.

* * *

Crowley had always loved the internet, he could sit in the comfort of his own home and stir hundreds of people into a frenzied Twitter mob in minutes. Doing the Devil's work had never been so easy. 

The Cancel Culture was a personal pride of his, even if the higher ups didn’t appreciate it for the genius it was. No imagination in Hell these days, that’s their problem.

Tonight was a little different however, the demon had swapped his flat earthers blog for a combination of Jamie Oliver and Mary Berry videos on Youtube. -- A website he only discovered after being shown a video of a man sneezing into a trombone by one Adam Young.   
Crowley was no stranger to a frivolous demonic miracle, however he hoped by making the meal from scratch he would be able to pour a different level of meaning into the gesture.

Blue light poured through his round sunglasses as he watched one recipe after the other in his darkened kitchen. His coat was haphazardly flung over a nearby chair, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and there was a distinct powder line across the bridge of his nose from where he had adjusted his sunglasses -- hands covered in flour -- on the first attempt to make scones from scratch.

He let out a low growl of frustration, gulping back another glass of red wine while pouring some of the bottle into the pan as instructed. “What a waste.” He lamented to himself as the wine reduced into a lovely, thick sauce. _“The sacrifices I make for lo--”_ He cut the thought off mid sentence. Even if he and Aziraphale were on their own side now, there was still a part of Crowley that feared the eye of both Heaven and Hell.

He must have been on his 6th bag of cooking chocolate, (not that all of those had made it into the cooking, in his many years, chocolate was the only food stuff Crowley enjoyed stomaching.) -- when there was a knock at the door.

“What?!” He snapped, no one should be calling at this time of night, Crowley’s 6,000 years old, does he not deserve some privacy after 10pm?

“Perhaps I should come back another time.” 

Crowleys head shot up. “Angel?” 

Surely not.

He looked at the small, digital clock on the bench. 

Apparently yes.

“Uh-I.. huh, y-yeah! I’m coming.” Crowley spluttered, realising that he had spent the better part of 18 hours in a cooking frenzy and was somehow less prepared for Aziraphales arrival than when he began.

The calamity that laid behind him in the kitchen was enough to make even a demon cringe. A quick glance into the long mirror revealed his own reflection wasn’t much better.

With a sigh and sharp snap of his fingers, Crowley miracled himself and the apartment back into a presentable state before letting the angel inside.

The proceedings weren't graceful and maybe the scones weren’t made by hand in the end but to the swaggering demons credit, the evening was a success.

Across the apartment Aziraphale had sat, quiet and polite, musing to himself about what had come over his friend. There had been many occasions that Crowley had indulged in human activities but he had never shown interest in food the way Aziraphales soft frame betrayed his favourite pastime. Never the angel to grumble, he simply enjoyed the fragile moment, never questioning it for fear it would all turn out to be a dream.

The food wasn’t quite as refined as the Ritz and the service came with a few cursed hisses at dropped utensils, but the smile on the angels face was full of genuine glee. 

Crowley was sure the heat rising up his neck was just from the cooking.

The night was going perfectly, and that couldn’t help but make them both feel a little uneasy. Nothing about their partnership had ever been simple.

“Well my dear, that was scrumptious.” Aziraphale -- forever the refined English gentleman -- dabbed a napkin delicately to his lips. 

“It was nothing.” Crowley dismissed with a smirk. 

“It was lovely.” The angel countered pointedly, genuine adoration in his voice. “And it was lovely of you to do it for me.” There was an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach, which could quickly be explained by the nervous tension building from speaking so openly to someone from _The Other Side._

“Now you’ve really gone too far.” The dishes were no longer on the table in front of them and Crowley was rolling his fluid body off of the couch to saunter to the bar.

The rest of the evening was spent comfortably slumped in warm, drunken conversation. Laughter bubbled through the air as they recounted a particularly amusing story that took place in an ancient Roman brothel, Aziraphales cheeks became puffed and red from his delighted smile. A sly undertone of a heavy sigh could also be heard when the demon smirked into his umpteenth glass of red wine. Award winning wines from around the world lined the racked wall, in place for the enjoyment and perusal of his connoisseur companion as Crowley had only two preferences when it came to drinking, dark and alcoholic.

Sleep didn’t take long to befall them both, opting not to sober up before swaying themselves to bed. The peaceful quiet of the steely apartment didn’t last long through the night however and Crowley soon found himself sobering up with a grimace to investigate the horrid sound down the hall.   
Cold breeze filled the bathroom where the poor principality slumped against the dark tiled basin, skin as pale of a shade as his heavenly white hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you dear.” A half-hearted smile and the dabbing of sweat from his forehead all he could muster. During the night he had become painfully aware that the gripping knot in his stomach hadn’t been caused by nerves but rather an outside source.

The questioning was panicked and agitated as Crowley tried to uncover what was responsible for this sudden illness. The answers he received were purposefully vague, which continued to fuel the demons' confusion but Aziraphale couldn’t bear to see the object of his affections face, should he hear the truth. “Would you mind,” he gestured to his clenched stomach “paperwork you understand?” The soft chuckle was barely a breath from his lips.

There was tension once they were both sitting back at the breakfast bar, a cup of hot cocoa miraculously nestled in the angels plump hands. Not much had been said since the demonic intervention to untwist his friend's stomach, Crowley had never seen them fallen ill before and he was brooding on the matter. “You’re determined not to let this go are you?” Aziraphale sighed, knowing his friend's mind all too well. “As you know, ethereal beings such as us-”

“Occult.” Crowley quipped.

“-don’t require “gross matter” as they would put it, upstairs.” Aziraphale continued, ignoring the interjection as he had grown accustomed to doing. “For that reason, I can be” He hesitated, struggling for the right phrasing “sensitive to, improperly prepared food..” The intonation left the sentence as more of a question, than a statement.

After a few moments of silence, “I gave you food poisoning?!” erupted from would-be cook, his voice cracking and deep creases of woe lining his forehead.

“Only a little. But it’s all okay now!” Full of hopeless optimism as always.

Not one person could deny that Aziraphales soothing pleasantness could calm even the most angry of souls. Gently, he squeezed Crowleys slender hand and quickly worked to ease the demon's guilt, sending him to bed again with a soft heart and a ‘practice makes perfect’ mantra.

_“He is ever so sweet”_ Aziraphale mused, draining the last of his cocoa. _“I do hope this doesn't dampen our companionship.”_ The inner grumble was aimed towards his gown covered stomach.   
“Traitor.” He muttered downward, followed quickly by an apology and a pat.

Upon reaching his bedroom door, he found morbid amusement in the still searing message burnt into the dark wood.

_“Feel better  
Angel”_

They were going to be just fine he thought, slipping happily into his room for the night.


End file.
